


What's In A Word - White

by Davechicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt - white</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Word - White

Stiles stares at the screen. A vast expanse of white, virgin and unsullied, with only a blinking, mocking cursor on the page. Write something. Write _anything_. He glares at it, then minimises the document and goes onto Facebook, trolling for clickbait.

Half an hour later, he knows all about what kids of his dad’s era played with. He knows which kind of mermaid he is, and he knows that in Texas they deep-fry cola. None of this helps with the assignment, which so far is the title of the document and… oh look. It’s already 10kb. And that’s just the document name. So… progress. Right?

He glances down at the clock, and then goes back to see who’s online right now. Scott is, but he’ll be busy doing something. He hardly ever answers messages these days. Lydia will somehow psychically know he’s procrastinating, and… it’s just not going to work. He closes down his contact list and hefts the book back down on the table.

Con-cen-trate.

Focus.

There is no try.

He closes his eyes and slams his hands down, tapping out the first thoughts he can muster about… what even is this assignment about? He presses his eyes so hard shut that he can see lights sparkle like the Fourth of July behind his lids. He looks up and sees he’s managed a paragraph. Great. It’s awful, but he hits ctrl+s and rewards himself by picking up his phone.

(Hi>

<Hi)

Derek texted back faster than he normally would. Huh. That makes Stiles immediately suspicious, so he rocks his chair back and sends another.

(What ru up to?>

<Nothing much)

Definitely fishy. Even if he wasn’t sure _what_ Derek got up to when they weren’t fighting something, or… well. The other thing. Seriously, the man seemed to _not exist_ at other times. Or maybe it was just that, without a mental image of what he was up to, Stiles couldn’t conceive of him.

(I’m bored>

(Entertain me>

There is a longer pause now, and Stiles tries to imagine what Derek was up to. Was he taking a break from polishing his muscular arms? Was he… _eating_? Pruning his eyebrows? Practicing his glare in a mirror?

<How?)

(If I’m bored it’s bc I don’t know WHAT TO DO DEREK>

Ugh. Now Derek is boring him, too. He puts his phone down and glares at his laptop some more. He hammers out three paragraphs whilst he still has wind in his sails, ignoring the steady vibration of his phone against the tabletop. It was agony to do it, but he did. When he’d finished with the opening statements, he looks to see what has come in.

<Alright. Pretend I’m there. I’m sitting on your bed, watching you study.)

<I’m taking my clothes off, and you can hear me moving. But you’re not allowed to turn.)

<You don’t get to turn until you’re finished with your assignment.)

(WTF WHY>

He forgets he was slightly annoyed with Derek for being boring, on account of the not being boring right now.

(HOW IS THAT GOING TO HELP ME STUDY>

<Because I won’t let you touch me until you’re finished. And if you take too long, I’ll finish without you.)

(EVIL>

Stiles glares at his phone. That is just evil. He can even see it, in his mind’s eye. Derek sprawled against the headboard, rubbing a hand over the front of his jeans. Moaning lowly, tugging his shirt up to reveal that stomach and… damnit.

<It’s called positive reinforcement.)

(I hate you>

(I could just come over>

<I wouldn’t answer the door.)

(Idc I’m coming over>

<Not until the assignment’s done.)

<I wonder how many fingers I can take.)

That does it. Stiles turns the phone off, and types so hard and fast he’s sure he’s two clicks away from popping the spacebar off his keyboard. He hits the wordcount in forty-five minutes, hits save, and then grabs the keys to his Jeep.

No way in hell is he going to miss **this**.


End file.
